


The Woes of Ronald Weasley

by nanceoir



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 5: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Gen, Quidditch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-10
Updated: 2013-09-10
Packaged: 2017-12-26 04:38:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/961649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nanceoir/pseuds/nanceoir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four scenes from <em>Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix</em>, as told from Ron's point of view.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Woes of Ronald Weasley

**Author's Note:**

> All spoken words are directly from _Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix_. All other text are my own interpretations from cues given within the book. Thank you, and enjoy.

It was the last day of the summer holidays, and Ron was glad. No, he wasn't anxious to start school again (that would have been beyond anyone's most fanciful dream); instead, he just wanted a change.

Ron Weasley had spent the last six weeks helping to clean the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. It was hard work, hard work that Ron didn't particularly enjoy. Doxies, boggarts, puffskiens, and large spiders did not make for a joyous holiday. Nor did the mounting tensions of life with You-Know-Who back.

Everything seemed darker since that June night. Ron's best friend, Harry Potter, was understandably upset; he had been the one to see You-Know-Who return and even survived a duel with him. Hermione Granger, Ron's other best friend, spent her time vocalizing her worries about Harry and how to keep her parents from the knowledge that she was involved — however marginally — in fighting the darkest wizard of the age.

Even Ron's family had been affected. Mr. Weasley was having a difficult time of it at work; the Minister of Magic made it clear that anyone supporting Dumbledore might as well clean out his desk. As Mr. Weasley, as well as Mrs. Weasley and their sons Bill and Charlie, were members of Dumbledore's secret Order, he had to be especially careful.

And then there was the incident with Percy, another of Ron's brothers. Ron hadn't been home at the Burrow for holidays for more than a week when Percy came home, announcing his new job: assistant to Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic. Mr. Weasley suspected an ulterior motive for Percy's new job and told him as much. Percy then accused Mr. Weasley of having no ambition or loyalties. Ultimately, Percy decided to leave for good; he wanted to show the wizarding community he had no ties to his family.

Ron didn't have much of a chance to miss his brother, however; the day after Percy left, the other Weasleys moved into the Order's headquarters. Percy's absence would have been harder felt, Ron thought, if the family had stayed at the Burrow. Instead, with Harry and Hermione there, it felt more like a stay at the Leaky Cauldron... with chores.

All in all, it had not been an enjoyable summer. So, when the booklists arrived the day before they were supposed to leave for school, Ron was inwardly relieved — not that he'd ever admit it. He took his and Harry's letters up to their room, where Harry was busy cleaning and packing.

Tossing Harry his envelope, Ron said, "Booklists have arrived. About time, I thought they'd forgotten." Opening his own envelope, he added, "They usually come much earlier than this."

As Harry finished cleaning up after the owls, Ron looked down his half-opened letter. Funny, he thought, I don't remember ever getting a letter this thick before. Hoping it didn't mean trouble, Ron pulled out the parchment, taking no notice of a small object within the envelope.

"Only two new ones," Harry said. Ron followed the list as Harry read, " _The Standard Book of Spells Grade 5_ , by Miranda Goshawk and _Defensive Magical Theory_ , by Wilbert Slinkhard."

Ron nodded and folded the booklist as George and Fred, his twin brothers, Apparated into the room. They were keen to talk about the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.

However, Ron wasn't as interested in his fifth Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher in as many years as he was in the second piece of parchment. He looked at it quizzically with little idea what it could be.

He unfolded it and read:

> Dear Mr. Weasley,
> 
> As you know, prefects are chosen from each house beginning in the fifth year. After careful consideration of all fifth-year students, you have been chosen to represent the best of Gryffindor House as a prefect.
> 
> As such, you will help your Head of House, Professor McGonagall, by setting an example for the other students. You also have the responsibility of maintaining discipline in the Gryffindor Common Room. While you do not have the authority to award or remove points (although you can certainly make those recommendations to a professor), you can give out detentions when necessary.
> 
> You will receive more information on September 1 on board the Hogwarts Express. There will be a car reserved for the prefects where you will meet the other House prefects as well as receive further instructions from the Head Boy and Head Girl.
> 
> Congratulations on achieving prefecthood. Your badge is enclosed.
> 
> Sincerely,  
>  Albus Dumbledore  
>  Headmaster, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Ron stood frozen, dumbstruck. He couldn't believe what he just read. "You have been chosen to represent the best of Gryffindor House as a prefect." It couldn't be. It was impossible.

He had never imagined he would become prefect. He had never even _wanted_ to be a prefect; not since he arrived at Hogwarts nearly five years ago, anyway. It seemed Percy ruined the appeal of the badge. And now, whether he liked it or not, Ron was a prefect.

"What's up with you, Ron?" Fred's voice sounded as though from a great distance.

Ron couldn't move, couldn't speak. Now he could add embarrassment and harassment to his feelings of confusion and bewilderment.

Impatient for Ron's answer, Fred looked over Ron's should and read the parchment. "Prefect? _Prefect?_ " Fred couldn't believe it, either.

George grabbed Ron's envelope and emptied its contents. A scarlet and gold badge fell into his hand. "No way," muttered George.

Ron was lost in a whirl of indignation from the twins. They thought the badge should have gone to Harry, with whom Ron was avoiding eye contact. As Fred pointed out most cheerfully, Harry did win the Triwizard Tournament.

"Oh, Mum's going to be revolting," averred George, handing back Ron's badge.

Through all this, Ron was silent. He hadn't wanted the badge; he thought, like Fred and George, that Harry would be the chosen one. They were right; no one in their right mind would make me prefect, Ron thought sullenly.

Ron held out the gold and scarlet badge to Harry, who took it. Ron was about to say something when Hermione burst in.

"Did you — did you get —? I knew it!" she exclaimed. "Me too, Harry, me too!"

Harry gave Ron back the badge, seeming relieved to be rid of it. "No. It's Ron, not me."

"It — what?"

Harry elaborated. "Ron's prefect, not me."

Still, much to Ron's disappointment, Hermione didn't believe him. "Ron? But... are you sure? I mean—"

Ron had kept quiet, but he could feel the anger rising. Will everyone be so surprised that it's not Harry? he thought. Is it really that shocking or unbelievable?

Angered, he turned to Hermione and said, "It's my name on the letter."

Hermione, in an attempt to recover, started congratulating him. "I... well... wow! Well done, Ron! That's really—"

"Unexpected," interrupted George.

To Hermione's credit, she tried to stick up for Ron. But, she wasn't particularly successful. "No, no, it's not... Ron's done loads of... he's really... "

Hermione was spared from finishing her thought; Mrs. Weasley came into the room with a pile of clean robes.

Ron inwardly groaned. First he had dealt with the incredulity of his brothers and best friends; now he had to endure the embarrassment of telling his mother in front of them _and_ the humiliation of her response. Well, he was at least spared telling Mrs. Weasley the news; his brothers did it for him.

"Ron, I'll have to get you more pajamas, these are at least six inches too short," Mrs. Weasley said. "I can't believe how fast you're growing... What color would you like?"

George spoke up. "Get him red and gold to match his badge."

"Match his what?" asked Mrs. Weasley, not really concentrating.

Fred sighed. "His _badge_. His lovely shiny new _prefect's badge_."

Ron sighed as well and closed his eyes, preparing for the worst.

Comprehension was dawning on Mrs. Weasley. "His... but... Ron, you're not... ?"

Ron breathed in and held up the badge for his mother. He braced himself.

"I don't believe it!" shrieked Mrs. Weasley. "I don't believe it! Oh, Ron, how wonderful! A prefect! That's everyone in the family!"

George didn't take too kindly to that remark. "What are Fred and I, next-door neighbors?"

Mrs. Weasley, oblivious to her son's indignation, nearly strangled Ron with a hug. "Wait until your father hears! Ron, I'm so proud of you, what wonderful news, you could end up Head Boy just like Bill and Percy, it's the first step!"

Ron, struggling against his mother's embrace, thought sullenly, I don't _want_ to be like Percy.

But Mrs. Weasley would not be deterred; disregarding Ron's struggles, she kissed his face.

Ron, embarrassment sweeping over him, tried to make her stop. "Mum... don't... Mum, get a grip... "

Mrs. Weasley, letting go, stepped back and said, "Well, what will it be? We gave Percy an owl, but you've already got one, of course."

Ron was taken aback. Was she really saying what he thought she was? "W-what do you mean?"

"You've got to have a reward for this!" laughed Mrs. Weasley. "How about a nice new set of dress robes?"

Fred interjected grumpily, "We've already bought him some." George nodded in agreement. (The twins had averred it was because they had been embarrassed by his other set, but Ron was suspicious; they never did anything that might make him look less ridiculous.)

Ron, however, knew what he wanted. "Mum, can I have a new broom?" he asked optimistically. He had never had a new broom in his life. And, he had his own reasons for wanting one of his own.

Seeing the look on his mother's face, he quickly added, "Not a really good one!" If his plan worked, he wouldn't need a really _fast_ broom. "Just — just a new one for a change... "

Ron anxiously watched his mother's face; this was his one chance. He relaxed; Mrs. Weasley had smiled.

"Of _course_ you can.... Well, I'd better get going if I've got a broom to buy too." Mrs. Weasley, eyes glistening with tears, kissed him on the cheek and made her way out of the room, mumbling, "A prefect... Oh, I'm all a dither!"

* * *

Ron's dreams of playing Quidditch on the Gryffindor team came true, thanks in part to his new broom. But, as the first match of the season approached, Ron was increasingly nervous. He hadn't done well in practices; the times he had were accidents. Having Fred and George around, making jokes, didn't help.

And, Ron finally experienced some of the attention that followed Harry everywhere. As the first match, with Slytherin, loomed nearer, from the Slytherins came a constant, steady barrage of taunts, jeers, and threats.

The day of the match came, in spite of all Ron's wishes that it wouldn't. Harry tried to help him, but it was useless.

"I must have been mental to do this," Ron said to no one in particular at the Gryffindor table. " _Mental_."

Unfortunately, the match was as bad as Ron had feared. Worse, in fact. Try as he might, he couldn't stop Slytherin from scoring. After Harry caught the Snitch, saving Gryffindor from defeat, Ron quietly landed, away from the others.

Feeling utterly miserable, Ron headed to the changing rooms, his head low and his eyes on his feet. He didn't dare look up for fear of catching someone's — anyone's — eye. Storing his new Cleansweep (his waste of galleons Cleansweep, he thought) in his locker, Ron looked around with a hunted look. He didn't want to risk running into a teammate. Closing the locker, Ron sneaked to the back entrance of the changing rooms and slid out unnoticed.

With no destination, Ron simply wandered around. Trying to avoid meeting any schoolmate, he confined himself to the outer edge of the Forbidden Forest. He walked near the edge, making sure to stay out of view. But, he didn't venture too far in; he'd had too much experience with the Forbidden Forest to risk it.

He kept playing every move of the match over and over in his head. He saw the Quaffle sail between his outstretched hands time and time again. He saw Slytherin Chaser Pucey heading straight toward him. Pucey made to go right; Ron moved to block him. But Pucey had a different idea. Ron saw the Quaffle pass through the left goal hoop, right where he had been seconds earlier. I'm a terrible Keeper, he thought.

Worse than seeing every bad play, he couldn't get that song out of his head. Ron barely noticed the sounds of the Forest through the strains of a thousand-voice chorus singing,

> Weasley cannot save a thing,  
>  He cannot block a single ring,  
>  That's why Slytherins all sing:  
>  Weasley is our King.

Ron sat on a large rock, hands over his ears, hoping against hope to block out that song sung by an invisible chorus. It didn't work. Indeed, the song intensified, getting louder and more insistent. Frustrated, Ron started walking again.

As night fell, so did Ron's spirits, if that were possible. He knew he had to return to the castle. He didn't want to face anyone — not his friends, not his brothers, not his teammates, not his housemates. Unfortunately, it would do no good to be caught outside his dormitory after hours. That would probably cost him his prefect badge.

Not that I deserve it, he thought sourly. The mantle of prefectial responsibilities sat awkwardly on Ron's lanky frame. He disliked having to be an example to the younger students and a disciplinarian to all. He much preferred breaking the rules with Harry than following the rules with anybody.

Still, Ron remained outside. He watched as the castle windows glowed from the firelight inside, making him feel even colder and more alone. His breath hung in the air as snowflakes began drifting down. His dread at facing anyone yet kept him outdoors. A look of determination set his face against the November chill; he clutched his Quidditch robes tightly around him, trying to push out the cold. I will have to face everyone, he thought resolutely, but not tonight.

Looking up at the castle through some low-hanging branches, Ron watched the dormitory lights flicker and fade away. It must be almost midnight, he thought hopefully. I should be able to sneak in now.

Ron slowly emerged from the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest. Having learned from his many adventures with Harry, Ron did his best to stay out of view from the main part of the castle. He added ten minutes to his return; but, as he wasn't anxious to see anyone, he gladly welcomed the delay.

Walking as silently as he could, Ron hurried through the corridors. As he neared Gryffindor Tower, he found, to his surprise, that he wanted to get in there, and quickly. He had never been so cold in his life. (Or hungry, for that matter.) He had spent nearly the entire day outside wearing nothing more protective than Quidditch robes. His trek back to the castle had been through piles of snow, which quickly seeped through to his feet. For the first time all day, he was looking forward to something: thawing out in front of the fire.

Quietly Ron approached the Fat Lady's portrait, where the entrance to Gryffindor Tower was hidden. He whispered the password, just in case Filch or Mrs. Norris was around. He climbed through the portrait hole, hoping against hope the common room would be empty.

Extracting himself from the entrance, he looked around. Relief washed over him like a burst of sunlight. Everyone's in bed, he thought.

That's when he saw Harry's and Hermione's heads peering around the corner of their favorite armchairs. Ron froze, unsure whether he should join them, go straight to bed, or turn around and leave.

Looking concerned, Hermione jumped up. "Where have you been?"

"Walking," Ron said in a half-whisper.

"You look frozen," Hermione said in a gentle tone. "Come and sit down!"

He considered it for a moment, finally deciding to sit and warm up. Ron sat as close to the fire as he could while staying as far away from Harry as he could. Instead of looking at his best friend, Ron watched the Snitch speed across the room, barely registering that it shouldn't be there.

Ron shifted his attention to his feet, watching the snow melt and disappear. "I'm sorry," he muttered.

"What for?" asked Harry.

Ron sighed. I'd better get used to saying this, he thought. "For thinking I can play Quidditch. I'm going to resign first thing tomorrow."

Now it was Harry's turn to sigh. "If you resign, there'll only be three players left on the team."

Ron looked up, confused. I'm the only one who needs replaced, he thought.

Explaining, Harry added, "I've been given a lifetime ban. So've Fred and George."

"What?" Ron exclaimed, rising out of his seat.

As Hermione explained how Malfoy had insulted Ron's and Harry's mothers, Ron felt his ears turn red. As Hermione explained how Umbridge had banned not only Harry and George for fighting, but also Fred for wanting to fight, Ron's insides fairly writhed with anger.

But, as Hermione finished the story, Ron's indignation was swept away by a remarkably terrible feeling of guilt. "This is all my fault—"

Harry interjected sourly, "You didn't _make_ me punch Malfoy."

"—if I wasn't so lousy at Quidditch—"

"—it's got nothing to do with that—"

"—it was the song that wound me up—"

"—it would've wound anyone up—"

Ron opened his mouth to add something, but Harry had had enough.

"Look, drop it, will you! It's bad enough without you blaming yourself for everything!"

For half a second, Ron considered saying something back to Harry; he settled for staring forlornly at the hem of his robes, damp from his day in the snow. Several minutes later, he said plainly, "This is the worst I've ever felt in my life."

Harry concurred. "Join the club."

* * *

Morning dawned on the final Quidditch match of the season: Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw. Ron awoke with a strange optimism: not necessarily hopeful, but not hopeless. Perhaps it was because Gryffindor still had a chance to win the Quidditch Cup; perhaps it was because he didn't have to prove himself against his older brothers (who had left the school in spectacular fashion).

Or, perhaps it was the knowledge that, as he quipped to Hermione and Harry, "I can't get any worse, can I? Nothing to lose now, is there?"

Ron went to the changing rooms early. He could hear the crowd growing louder and larger in the pre-game excitement. As the team gathered for a final pep talk from captain Angelina Johnson, Ron's sister Ginny (who had replaced Harry as Seeker) caught his eye and smiled reassuringly, as if to say, 'Win or lose, it'll all be over soon.'

The match started poorly for Gryffindor. Ron let Ravenclaw score on the first possession of the game. He felt his stomach drop, along with his confidence (which was already low), as the Slytherins burst into another rousing chorus of "Weasley Is Our King."

Ron flew around the hoops once, trying to regain some semblance of confidence, but he quickly returned to the middle hoop as he had practiced. He watched as Ravenclaw got hold of the Quaffle again.

That's when it happened. Ravenclaw Chaser Bradley was flying towards the right goal hoop. Come on, you can do this, Ron thought. Just stop the Quaffle.

Instead of flying to defend the right goal, Ron flew to the left. And, to his surprise, Ron saw Bradley coming directly towards him; Bradley had been feinting.

Bradley threw the Quaffle toward the hoop. Ron lunged after it and... caught it!

The Gryffindors fairly roared in celebration, along with some Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws (the surprise save by Ron was thrilling for _all_ non-Slytherins). Ron smiled to himself. That's for _me_ , he thought, amazed that such a thing could happen.

To the surprise of everyone, Ron included, Ron only got better as the game progressed. After blocking Bradley's fourth goal attempt, Ron saw Ginny and Cho Chang, the Ravenclaw Seeker, fly past; they were on the tail of the Golden Snitch. Ron watched as Ginny reached out and grabbed the Snitch from in front of Cho Chang.

The excitement spread through the Gryffindors instantly. The game was over; Gryffindor won! The Quidditch Cup was theirs! Ron flew down to greet his teammates. He hugged his sister tightly. It was a great day for them both, the Keeper and the Seeker. He got congratulatory pats across his back from his other teammates.

The rest was a bit of a blur. Without seeing who or what did it, Ron felt his feet leave the ground. He looked down and saw the beaming faces of his fellow Gryffindors, who began singing:

> Weasley can save anything,  
>  He never leaves a single ring,  
>  That's why Gryffindors all sing:  
>  Weasley is our King.

From somewhere below, Ron was handed the Quidditch Cup. He could see, reflected in the gleaming silver, the cheering Gryffindors behind him. He quickly scanned the crowd as they moved closer to the castle. Where are they? Ron thought impatiently. He spotted them some distance away.

"HARRY! HERMIONE!" he shouted gleefully. "WE DID IT! WE WON!" As if to emphasize the unbelievable victory, Ron lifted the Cup into the air, waving it around.

Seeing their beaming faces gave Ron a thrill. It was the first time since he came to Hogwarts that he had achieved something without them. And, as wonderful as it was to be recognized with his friends, Ron had to admit that, if only for this one time, it was nice to be recognized for being himself.

So, Ron returned to the castle on the shoulders of his classmates, Quidditch hero, as the hallways echoed with the refrains of "Weasley Is Our King."

* * *

Lying in bed in the hospital wing after his adventure at the Ministry of Magic with Harry, Hermione, Ginny, Neville and Luna, Ron tried to piece together what happened. He remembered everything up to a point. But, after being hit with a curse from a Death-Eater, details were vague at best.

He looked at his forearms, which were full of deep, painful welts. He had a foggy memory of a levitating brain coming at him. He caught it. He could see tentacles wrapping around his arms. Ron remembered trying to stop them from cutting him but with little success.

Ron silently rolled over, trying to make sense of the situation. No matter how you look at it, Ron thought, I was no help to Harry. In fact, he shuddered to think, I bet I made matters worse.

Madam Pomfrey came in with a package from George and Fred and a treatment of Dr. Ubbly's Oblivious Unction, which she applied thickly and liberally to Ron's welted arms. Muttering as she administered to her patient, Madam Pomfrey made the observation that thoughts leave deeper scars than practically anything else.

Ron, waking up during the night, sat up and started mulling over Madam Pomfrey's comment. Picking up a Chocolate Frog, he thought back over the school year. All in all, it had been pretty terrible. I humiliated myself on the Quidditch pitch for most of the year, he thought. Except for calling a few first years names, I haven't made a successful prefect... well, I didn't really try, so it's no loss.

A loud snore from across the room, followed by a whimper, pulled Ron out of his thoughts. He smiled as he thought of Umbridge's encounter with the Centaurs.

Grinning, he made soft clopping noises with his tongue. As Umbridge practically jumped out of bed, Ron chuckled silently and laid back down. Well, the year hasn't been a total loss, he thought before drifting off to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Written in November 2003.


End file.
